


To Be Suitable

by TeamGwenee



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1920s, F/M, Fluff, Forbidden Love, One Shot, Silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:20:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23734492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeamGwenee/pseuds/TeamGwenee
Summary: A formal dinner between the aristocratic families of 1920s Westeros takes a surprising (for some) turn.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 23
Kudos: 234





	To Be Suitable

**Author's Note:**

> Something that popped into my head watching Gosforth Park last night.

Lady Stark’s secretary was a tall, broad and plain woman. Eminently respectable and most commonly dressed in a tweed skirt, green cardigan and starched white shirt. For all that she tried to drift into the background as befitted a Countess’s secretary, her height made the eye wonder towards her, and gave Jaime's eyes the perfect excuse for doing so even in the company of the great and glorious. The elegant Countess of Winterfell and the eldest of her brood, her handsome son and pretty daughter ; with their dancing blue eyes, flaming hair and ready smiles, arrived with the dour secretary and Lord Jaime passed them over with barely a look. Doe eyed, fashionably dressed Lady Margaery Tyrell had arrived at Casterly Rock soon after with her brother, and despite some heroic efforts was spared barely a glance.

Sat prim and upright in the dining room, awaiting her lady’s pleasure, Miss Tarth could not hold a candle to the polished poise and blue blooded beauty of her employers, nor their hosts and fellow guests. Still in half mourning, Lady Stark wore a tasteful grey velvet evening gown, stylishly loose at the waist yet ankle length and with long, romantic sleeves, suitable for the mature fashionable woman. Her daughter wore grey also. A light dove grey with a handkerchief hem falling to just above her calves, and decorated all over with intricate black and silver beads. She had evidently been forbidden to cut her long hair by her mother, for she instead wore it up in fashionable curls, a pearl headband wrapped her white forehead.

Lady Margaery paid homage to her family crest in a daringly short emerald green satin dress, her brunette curls cut short in a bob straight out of the pages from vogue. Long beaded necklaces swung merrily as she walked, as the gold satin rose adorning her jewelled headband bobbed along. 

But off course, it was Cersei whose beauty and taste reigned supreme. Her floor length crimson gown was the latest fashion from Lys, the blood red gown unadorned so as not to detract from the elegance of the pleated fabric flowing to the floor like a waterfall of red wine. A gold armband snaked around her white upper arm, and but for two ruby and diamond earrings, it was her own regality and startling beauty that carried the ensemble. 

Miss Tarth’s shop bought blue velveteen dress, (let down at the hem to account for her height) could not equal or surpass their example. Her hair was short also, but unlike Lady Margaery’s bob the unflattering cut had clearly been done by her own hand for the sake of practicality. She looked most out of place in Casterly Rock’s formal dining hall, with its polished oak table stretching the length of the room, the deep red wall adorned with oil paintings depicting centuries of Lannister ancestors. All glaring down with green eyes, glorious in their satin panniers and powdered wigs and starched ruffs and classical muslins. All wondering why this common daughter of a clark had been permitted to sit at their table. The crystal glasses, the polished silverware, the lady’s jewels, all of it glittered.

Miss Tarth did not. 

Jaime had been sat next to Lady Sansa and Lady Margary, with his father’s personal preference for Lady Margaery made evident by Jaime having been required to escort Lady Margaery into dinner.

Lord Lannister no doubt believed that Jaime’s marked snubbing of both these ladies had been to spite him. Instead of paying any of these ladies their rightful due, he preferred to call across the table to his brother, leaving Lady Sansa hurt and Lady Margaery amused. When he did happen to address the ladies, it almost seemed as if he was trying to be insulting as possible without giving cause for a duel. 

Lady Sansa, only recently out in society, turned a confused glance to her mother who raised a pointed eyebrow, signalling to her daughter to ignore the slight and act as though nothing had happened. Lady Margaery entertained herself by regularly trying to gain her partner’s attention and discretely watching Lord Lannister’s fury grow with each failed attempt. 

For example, Lady Margaery would say something like innocuous and “Has the weather not been unseasonably cold this time of year?”

And Jaime, barely sparing her glance, would say “I had not noticed. Perhaps you need a thicker coat.”

And an eager to please Lady Sansa would hop in with “The North has certainly been chiller than usual this time of year. Thankfully I’ve just had the most delightful coat sent over from White Harbour.”

“Well then you will know all about warm coats,” Jaime would say brusquely. “You can advise Lady Margaery, for I have nothing to say on the matter. Tyrion, doesn’t this wine make you think of that vintage Prince Doran sent over last year?”

Brienne, seated far away and wishing she had been permitted to just eat dinner on a tray in her room, wished for nothing more than to vanish in a puff of smoke, so great was her mortification at Jaime’s behaviour. It was with great relief that she stood along with the other ladies as Lady Cersei, acting as hostess, suggested they go through for coffee. 

Her relief was short-lived for Lady Cersei, possessing a lioness’s taste blood, gestured for the dowdy secretary to sit beside her, and in doing so began to grill the poor unfortunate as to her relations.

"Do sit beside me Miss Tarth!" she called. "I have longed to properly make your acquaintance ever since we first met at the shooting party at Winterfell. I rather fear my odious twin may have spent the time irritating you to such a degree you have been put off the entire family. I can assure you the rest of us are not so uncivil, except for my youngest brother of course. Come join me and tell me all about yourself."

Her father, Lady Cersei discovered, had been Lord Stark’s bateman during the war and it had been through this connection he found his place as a clerk. On his death the Stark had funded Brienne’s education and she had been in their employment since leaving school seven years ago. 

“Well, that was most compassionate of the Starks,” Lady Cersei trilled as Brienne’s cheeks burned scarlet. “But then, no one has ever been able to fault the Starks on their charitable endeavours. And how do you like being a secretary?”

“It suits me well,” Brienne said simply. “Lady Stark is a most considerate employer. I had once given thought to studying to be a veterinarian but-”

“But of course you could not expect the Starks to fund you through school and university,” Lady Cersei said understandingly. “I see.”

“I think perhaps to return to school, once the time is right,” Brienne said uncertainly, wishing the rest of the room was not so quiet. 

“You do look the studious type,” Lady Cersei remarked. “And I daresay you will find yourself right at home with dogs and cows.”

“I like animals,” Brienne said, “And I like to be useful.”

“I do worry you will find a husband with your chosen profession,” Cersei said with deep compassion, “Most men do not search in the stables when looking for a wife. Or, perhaps that is of no concern for you.”

Brienne knew very well what Lady Cersei wished to say, and for how she wished for Brienne to respond. She narrowed her eyes and stiffened her back.

“As you say your Ladyship, I have little worries of finding a husband at present,” she said evenly. Her eyes shifted to the grandfather clock sitting solemnly in the corner of the room. “Would you excuse me a while your Ladyship, I rather feel I need to step outside for a moment.”

Lady Cerse’s lips pursed in pleasure at a job well done and nodded graciously.

As Brienne passed through the dainty curved tables and pretty ornaments stuffed within the light and feminine walls of the Drawing Room, Lady Stark happened to catch her eye. Brienne paused uncertainly.

“Would you permit me to retire Lady Stark, or have you any more need of my service?” she asked respectfully.

Lady Stark gave her a small, almost sad smile. She nodded with some reluctance, the remainder of her disapproval still lingering between the pair. She took Brienne’s hand and quietly wished her well, before returning to her oblivious card partners.

Upon exiting Brienne did not turn to the great marble staircase twisting up to the bedrooms, but instead she waited a moment in a alcove until the footman was called away from the front door to fulfill] some service, before hastily slipping out and into the cool autumn chill. Her bare arms pimpled with gooseflesh, she walked down the right side of the house, where the car had been pulled up and waiting. 

Bronn, Lord Tyrion’s man saw her first. He nodded and jerked his head, to confirm that her groom and his brother were waiting.

Brienne approached the car door, her mouth dry and heart in her throat. She could still turn back, back to a life of staid respectability and middle class comfort. Once she was in and the car was off, there would be no turning back. There would be scandal and outrage and threats of disinheritance and it would be all over the papers and the realm would titter and gasp at how a clerk’s ugly daughter had snared the most desirable bachelor of the country.

Jaime opened the door and outstretched his hand, his jade green eyes sharp and dancing in the moonlight. Brienne took it and allowed his warm, firm grasp to pull her in. 

“We were beginning to think you were not coming,” Tyrion noted. “I was rather worried that father would send staff looking for us if you kept us waiting much longer. Jaime was quite terrified you had regained your senses.”

“No I was not,” Jaime protested, wrapping his arm around Brienne’s bare shoulders. “Brienne gave her word and her word is sacred.”

“Is a promise sacred if it is made during a lapse of sanity?” Tyrion asked the car sprang to life.

“Lord Tyrion, I was of sound mind and thought when I agreed to Jaime’s proposal, and my state has not altered since,” Brienne assured him. “Or if my consent had been made from a burst of insanity, I can assure you I have not yet recovered.”

Tyrion chortled, only to be cut off as the car jarred into a faster pace. Tyrion’s hand sprang out to clutch at the door handle to keep himself from slipping off his seat, and it was only Jaime’s firm grip that kept Brienne from the floor. 

“Seven Hells Bronn!” Jaime called out, “Do you wish for us to crash before we get to Dorne?”  
  
“If you want to get to Dorne you will have to put up with a bit of speed!” Bronn called back. “Your father is off after us.”

Jaime, Tyrion and Brienne twisted their heads to look out of the window and back at the lengthy driveway. In the doorway of the house Brienne could see the Starks and Tyrells, their faces lit up from the hall lights. Lady Stark was whispering into her son’s ear, young Robb cracking up in laughter as she did. Sansa’s pretty forehead was lined in confusion whereas Lady Margaery watched the hubbub with the ever present smirk of one with superior understanding. 

Lady Cersei, her skirts having twisted around her ankle and sent her plummeting onto the hard cold stone of the driveway floor, was cursing and hissing at the skittish footment trying to help her to her feet.

Even only in the dim moonlight, Jaime could see his father’s face turned a dark, violent purple. Whether that was from his fury of the exertion of trying to sprint alongside the car and catch up with the elopers, Jaime could not say. But it was a sight that both Jaime and Tyrion would cherish for the rest of their lives, the memory only surpassed as Jaime’s happiest, by his wedding to the eminently unsuitable Miss Tarth the very next day.


End file.
